Without Words
by LILKENNY
Summary: It's time for him to get some sleep. SMACKED Oneshot. Prequel to "Silent Comfort". One-Shot, so: COMPLETE. Feedback very appreciated.


**Without words**

**Summary:** It's time for him to get some sleep.

**Disclaimer: **CSI:NY and the associated characters are property of CBS, A. Zuiker and other people whom I don't belong to. This is fan fiction and not for profit…

**Rating: **T - to be on the safe side.

**Note: **_Well as they say… Good things come to those who wait. This started out as an 'experiment' of mine and is actually the first story I wrote in English, although it's not the first fanfic I published here. Reason for that is that this story spent a long time in beta and following revision. In that regard I would like to thank iheartcsinewyork a_ _lot_ _for her help with the wording, grammar, punctuation and all the other stuff I'm not so good at - and of course also for her input!_

_As a little warning for everyone who read my first published story and expects this to be something similar… well it's not._

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It still feels like the strangest thing to do – lying here in bed, still fully clothed**;** or at least as far away from being naked as one could be in their own bed. But what makes this the strangest thing is the fact that she isn't alone. No. That's not really it, is it? She had been with men before - in her own bed or theirs. That's not really the strange part; that's not why she wonders, how they actually came to be here. Of course she knows the answer to that, but... Well it's just not something she could have foreseen.

What's so unexpected about this situation is that she is lying in bed with this specific man. A man whom she has liked for several years now. Liked as in being friends, inviting each other over for brunch on Sundays, double-dates for dinner with their significant others. This is a man she adores for who he is, for how he handles his work and his life. He's a man who has been her best friend for half a decade now.

A man who still wears his wedding ring.

Slowly she turns her head to look at the short, dark brown hair. It's glistering lightly in the moonlight and it costs her a lot of self-control to not play with it. She knows it will feel silky. He's got rather thin hair and he showered just before he went to bed – her bed. It would feel good, she's positive. Maybe the situation wouldn't be that awkward anymore, if she just did it. But then… that wasn't why they were lying there.

In Bed. Together.

That thought still strikes her like a lightning-bolt whenever it breaches her consciousness. She would never have expected for them to end up in bed. Not that anything sexual happened that night - or was likely to happen. They basically went to bed, both a bit stiff in their composure, both knowing how awkward the situation was. But when she hugged him she could feel how all the stress, all the pent-up emotions flowed out of him and left a boneless mess in her arms.

A mess she held dear to her heart.

She pulled him even closer then, held him while the slow**,** painful sobs rocked his body. It's the first time she ever saw him cry. He is a strong man, a self-confident man. She never imagined she would see him break down into tears. But now that she has, she's glad she was there to hold him. Because she wouldn't want him to be without an anchor in his darkest hour. It feels as if that's her job now.

She's his best friend after all.

Slow movement from the body lying halfway across her brings her thoughts back to the present. He's still sleeping and she knows all too well why. It's doubtful he got any real sleep during the last three months. She has rarely seen him leaving work, only eating when somebody told him so. And she knows that most of the time this person has been her.

Everybody at the office is worried, but nobody dares to actually talk to him about it. Nobody but her, that is. She has tried to talk to him, tried to tell him to go home, to sleep, only to stop herself before she said the words. He wouldn't go home, couldn't. Not now.

Not yet.

Unconsciously her arms tighten around him and she hears a tiny moan. For a second her heart skips a beat, but he doesn't wake up and thankfully she relaxes back into the cushions. She's tired but still can't find the sleep she herself needs. It's all still too fresh. And she knows, she has to be there for him again when he finally wakes up.

She sighs quietly and wonders again how they ended up here – like this.

For a second she's not sure. At the time it has seemed like the most natural thing to do, like the only thing she could have done. She remembers the party at some fancy hotel's conference room, him standing on the edge of it, not really into it. His mind has seemed far, far away. He clearly hasn't been in any mood to party. Who could have blamed him? She didn't. But she has still considered to bring him into the mood. It was supposed to be a Christmas party. _They_ were supposed to be happy-go-lucky. Instead he has been standing in the corner, a cup of something in hand. Knowing him it has probably been coffee – without any additional content.

He has just been standing there, looking at all the people, who have gone back to their life while he seemed unable to do the same. Thing was, she couldn't really blame him for it. There were days, she was barely able to keep going on herself. And to be honest, it has taken her all of the last three months to get to this point. When she has seen him there… for the first time she has asked herself how long it would take him to bounce back from this.

Sometimes she's not sure he ever will.

She hopes he does and that's why this has been the exact moment she decided that she would do everything to help him. No matter how long it took, she wouldn't let him down. Yes, he had hit rock bottom just to feel the bottom crack and have him fall deeper. And she couldn't do a damn thing about it – except to be there for him, to hold him, to make him eat sometimes and rest before he was about to keel over.

It's common knowledge that he doesn't sleep – not anymore.

There are not many people who can make him rest. Thankfully she's one of them. She had done it before, forced him to take a nap on one of the bunk-beds in the changing room. It had been a sad sight for most of their colleagues, but it had been a welcoming sight for her. At least he _had _been resting; he had finally been taking care of himself even if it was only because she forced him to. Some days she's not sure if he still knows how to do that without a little reminder from time to time.

And now he's actually asleep. Really asleep. As in dreaming, hopefully good dreams. Because his life's been too much of a nightmare lately. It's probably the first time in more than three months. At least that is what she thinks. So even if it really is the first time he's slept for real, it's a start. He's sleeping now – peacefully. While she still wonders if he can go on like this. Half of the time she's not sure if _she_ can. She's trying, but then it's not the same for her as it is for him.

Gently and before she knows what she's doing, her hand starts caressing the arm that lies across her stomach. The small hairs feel soft, as does the flesh below them. All the muscles relaxed. Finally succumbed to a blissful sleep. This feels good, it feels right but at the same time she wonders what she's doing. He's her best friend; it's natural for her to be there for him. She keeps telling herself that over and over again.

Maybe she'll start believing it at some point.

Slowly her thoughts turn back to the party some hours before. She has gone to him, into that dark, lonely corner which he has occupied on his own. As soon as he has seen her coming over, he has looked at her questioningly, but she hasn't said anything. She has just smiled, although she wasn't sure about what she was going to do, but then and there she could have sworn she saw a little smirk on his face in response.

It hasn't been a real smile, not his funny little chuckle, not the sometimes child-like laughter, not so much as that playful twinkling in his eyes. None of those carefree expressions of his she knows so well - had seen so often before. But she's sure there has been that tiniest bit of a smirk. At least that's what she's still telling herself.

Because she suspects it has been this smirk that brought them here together.

The party has been full in action, but neither of them seemed to be content with actually being there. So in the spur of the moment she has softly touched his arm, her hand gliding down until she reached his hand. When she has squeezed it he looked away, knowing what she was trying to tell him through it. Still he hasn't said anything, neither did she. The contact simply wasn't broken by either side. When he has finally squeezed back ever so lightly they both knew what it meant.

A question asked and answered.

He hasn't been 'fine' but he tried to look like it. She has seen it way too clearly. His tired composure, the exhaustion more than obvious in his eyes. But she has also known he wouldn't go home, wouldn't go back to his apartment. Especially not today. No, they've both known that he would return to work as soon as he could leave without too many questions asked. Instead he would bury himself in the next case or long overdue paperwork. And when he couldn't see the font on the papers anymore he would get up and walk around. Seemingly aimlessly.

The second her mind has started to taunt her with this image of him wandering around the streets because he still can't rest, she has tugged at his arm and her eyes have asked another question. The final question which ultimately brought them here. For a second she has seen the struggle in his eyes, the wanting and not wanting at the same time. But then he has nodded, put the cup away and followed her without any further questions, without ever looking back.

At that time she hasn't really known what would happened, she has just acted on instinct. She knew he needed to get out; that this party was torture to him and that he had only attended because he felt obligated to. It has been the office Christmas party after all. How could their boss not show up? He had felt responsible, like he had to be there. So he has been.

At least his body has been. She doesn't want to know, where the rest of him had been these last months.

Heading out from the party they've grabbed their coats and left. She remembers how she has looped her arm through his and they've started to walk away. Away from their colleagues, their friends. He had always put an effort into making everyone feel as part of the team, part of the family. Only lately he himself had drifted away from them. So maybe it wasn't so strange that nobody tried to stop them when they left.

She hasn't guided him in any direction, neither has he. They've just kept walking through the streets, not saying a word. She hasn't felt the need to. It has been kind of soothing. Just walking. Not talking – for god knows how long. Until they've reached the one place she hasn't wanted to be.

And suddenly she has wondered how often his aimless walks had guide him here before.

Honestly… she should have expected it. His feet probably carry him here all the time. Whenever he's not in the office she's quite sure now that he would end up here somehow. It isn't healthy, she knows that. As his friend she should stop him from doing this to himself. But she can't, because she also knows, in a way he needs this. He is a crime scene investigator by heart.

And this is the biggest crime scene in the world.

They've stood there for a while. She has felt him trembling slightly although she hasn't been sure if it was from the cold or the emotions raging inside him. It has been more than three months now, the rubble is still very visible. And even at night some people are working the site. People working who're still trying to find something or someone.

They had found people – alive – for a while. The only thing they keep digging up now are dead bodies. Or rather parts of them. Parts that ultimately end up in some lab, on somebody's desk – sometimes even hers. And after said somebody has successfully analyzed and hopefully identified whom those parts had belonged to once, they were packed up so that their families would get a little urn with whatever was left of their loved ones.

She remembers wondering how many of those urns some families will get until they can't go on like this anymore. Every piece found will be send. Every piece an urn. Imagine your son, your sister, your father, your beloved one shipped to you in tiny little pieces – never a whole body to put into a grave. But maybe they're content with at least having _something_ to put into the ground.

He hasn't.

Maybe it would help, if he got one of those little urns. It might help him to get on with his life. Maybe he will get one in the future. But then … maybe he won't. And even if he did, it might be too late and he too far into his grief.

At that moment she has known, she had to bring him out of it. She had to make him rest, sleep, eat, make him live again. Because if he didn't she doesn't know how she should go on. He's all the family she has. It was her loss too. She's lost a friend, a good friend.

A friend that would always remember to invite her over for a Christmas dinner.

She doesn't want to think about that, didn't then when they were standing in front of the giant gate that separates the still living New York from its biggest nightmare. Instead she revels in the fact that it's not too late yet. She carefully runs her hand down his spine and for a second allows herself to be selfish and glad that he's still alive.

His arms tighten around her and he snuggles up a bit more to her. She can feel his hot breath on her neck. Alive. He's still alive, he's not gone like her other friend, not yet. And she's not letting him go, he's too important. Right now it might seem as if she's his anchor. But truth is, she needs him even more, because she's hurting too and she has no other family she could turn to.

So when they've been standing in front of the gates she has tightened her grip on his hand. He has looked at her questioningly and she has smiled. A small, shy little smile that asked for something akin to forgiveness. But he hasn't understood and she couldn't explain it to him, because she didn't want to hurt him any further. So she has tugged at his arm and he followed her.

Once again.

They somehow ended up at her apartment. She could see that he was uncomfortable when he passed the threshold. But she didn't let him walk way. Without the need of any words she led him inside and practically shoved him into the bathroom; throwing some towels at him and an old pair of sweats some long gone boyfriend had left. Sighing she closed the door and waited.

Only when she heard the water running, did she grab some of her own sweatpants and a T-Shirt and changed her clothes. She was just finishing when she heard the water being turned off. Some seconds later he stood in the door, uncertain of himself, looking more tired and insecure than ever before in those three months.

She led him to the bed and he didn't argue, didn't say a single word. When he sat down she could see a wetness in his face. For a second she thought it would be tears. But then she could see that he didn't dry his hair properly and that it was only the excess water, running down his face in slow little drops, further down his neck and soaking his undershirt.

He shivered from the cold and she involuntarily cursed herself for not having another T-Shirt or anything else big enough for him to wear and warm him up.

Instead she did the next best thing and pushed him on his back, throwing the blanket over him. He still didn't argue and at that moment she wasn't so sure anymore she's doing the right thing. When she looked at him he just looked back, a sadness in his eyes that nearly broke her heart.

He's her best friend – he's her family. She doesn't want him to hurt like this.

So she turned off all the lights and crawled into bed with him. For a while they lay there without moving, without touching and still not a word was spoken between them. When she couldn't bear it anymore she turned to her side and watched his face.

His eyes were open; he was staring at the ceiling, thinking god knows what. But he was far way from sleep. This was awkward and strange. She knew she wanted to do something to ease his pain, to give him some comfort. On instinct alone she suddenly reached out and slightly touched his arm. She could feel him tense up, but she didn't break the contact. Slowly she caressed the arm, had willed him to understand that she would be there for him, whenever he needed her. Suddenly he looked at her and that was when she saw it.

She saw the pain, the anger and an incredible amount of sorrow.

Without a second thought she grabbed him and turned him over; hugged him to her and rocked him as the dam broke and he finally released everything he had tried to bury in the last three months. He held her just as tightly, while he sobbed for what he had lost, for the unfairness of it all. And she couldn't do anything but hold him, her own tears starting to flow.

Crying tears for her dead friend but even more for the living one.

Time flew by as they lay there like this. She can't remember how long it lasted but at some point he had cried himself into full exhaustion and finally fell asleep. While he got the rest he needed so much, he left her alone to wallow in her own sorrow and guilt.

That's exactly how she feels from time to time. Guilty. Because sometimes she's just glad he's still alive. That he wasn't taken from her just the same. She knows that he feels guilty too, but he feels guilty for _being_ alive. Because he hadn't been there, when he was actually supposed to. She knows that he had to cancel their plans for a second breakfast because of a case. And for him work came first – most of the times.

Just as it had on this fateful Tuesday.

She remembers it all too well, knows that he had been supposed to be there because his wife had wanted to talk to him over a second breakfast. Only, he never went. Because there had been a crime scene – her crime scene. And she had needed help. He is her supervisor, her boss, he is responsible. And although she's confident about her work, sometimes she needs him to be there and back her up. So he had caved, had smiled at her and said that she should grow up to do her cases without him from time to time. But he had stayed and had helped her.

Then the call had come in about 9 o'clock.

Somebody from outside the lab had called and she had picked up the phone. Only three months later and she doesn't even remember who it had been anymore. But she remembers how the voice had told her to turn on the TV. She had asked which channel and the only answer she had gotten was that it didn't matter which. Because it had been everywhere.

She had looked at him over the layout table and wondered what was going on. It had to be something big, if it was on every channel. So it was natural their attention had been picked. They had gone to one of the labs where some of their colleagues had already been watching it. She had been stunned when she saw the first images. One of the Towers had been on fire.

Just as they had entered the lab the second plane hit.

Cries had gone through the lab and when she had turned around she could see him speeding to the elevators. For a second she had turned back to the TV, unable to believe what she was seeing. It had taken her another second until her brain had wrapped around the fact that at least one of her friends worked in this Tower that day. As fast as she could she had turned around and then she sped up to him, following him down to one of the SUVs.

They hadn't talked during the ride. He had been trying to get anywhere near the Towers, while everyone else had tried to get away from them; as far as possible away. At some point they couldn't drive any further. Traffic had been on a total standstill. So they had left the car and had kept on going, running. He in front; she closing in on him.

Instead of the usual 20 minutes car ride it had taken them more than twice that time to get from the lab to anywhere near the Towers. When they had been only two blocks away they heard it. That low pitched sound. She's never going to forget it. They had felt a strange vibration, similar to an earthquake. And when she had seen the first signs of the clouds she had grabbed his arm as hard as she could and dragged him into the nearest building entrance.

He had tried to get away, had tried to get out but she didn't let him. She can still hear him screaming to let him go, while she had needed her whole body weight to have the slightest chance to keep him down; so he _wouldn't_ run outside. She simply hadn't been willing to let him run out there to die. There had still been a chance his wife made it out. The hour it had taken them to get there could have been the hour his wife needed to get away.

A shiver runs down her spine when she remembers those particular moments. Thinking back she wonders why she hadn't really been afraid to die. Maybe she had been too occupied to make sure, he didn't kill himself. Perhaps she hadn't cared because if she had died, they would have died together. Neither would have been alone.

It was a soothing thought now, as it must have been three months ago, while they had been lying on the tiled floor of some entrance hall. They had both been breathing hard, both not knowing what just happened, but also both having a fairly good idea of the few things that could cause a dust cloud like that.

She brings the comforter up his shoulders and tucks him in a bit tighter, not willing to remember the possibility of them dying in that entrance hall.

His grip tightens around her again and she can see from the frown on his forehead that he's not having a particularly good dream. Well, she isn't either and she isn't even sleeping. She tightens her arms around him in response, carefully caressing his cheek, glad he's still alive – and bound and determined to keep it that way.

She's going to be there for him, if he wants her to or not.

Slowly the sun is coming up and just then she's becoming aware of the time. It's morning. A new day is about to begin and maybe it will be a good day. At least she could make him sleep for a night. That's something. It is a start. They can go from there. If she can do something like this for him from time to time, maybe he'll come back to the land of the living.

It will take time.

She knows that, knows it won't be easy, because he won't _make_ it easy for her. It's a given, he'll fight her all along the way. They know each other long enough. Most of the time this man is unwilling to accept that he even has a problem. He's a strong man. Strong in physics as in willpower. But her will is strong too and she's definitely not ready to let him kill himself by starving or by sleep deprivation.

So in the end he might turn out to be their local insomniac. But if she can make him sleep from time to time then that's all she'll be asking for. Because it means he's still alive and not out there under all that rubble or in one of those thousands of tiny little urns. They survived and she'll make sure, it stays that way.

When she feels him waking up, she loosens her grip on him a little, to give him space. But he's keeping his tight grip on her. That's when she knows, that she really is his anchor and that he's thankful for the night's sleep.

After some more minutes they finally get up and he gets dressed, while she takes a shower. For a moment she wonders if anybody at the office will notice he still wears the same clothing as the day before. But then… she doesn't really care and neither does he, because he just looks at her with that little smirk she had missed so much and nods towards her apartment-door.

A smile tugs at her lips and she finally nods in return. Together they walk out to call a cab and get to the office. Back to work, back to another case. But they walk together. She's sure now, that he will survive the pain and the guilt and most of all he will survive the sorrow. It will take time – years probably, knowing him. But one day he will be okay and move on.

Still alive.

And if he didn't know that she'll be there for him before, now he does. Because they're friends. If he hits rock bottom again, she hopes he'll call for her. And in case he doesn't she'll keep an eye on him, watch for the signs – just to make sure. So when he needs her again and doesn't call, she'll be there without him asking. Just like the last night.

Because they don't need words; they need each other.

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_So… this went through nearly two months of constant revision and beta and I hope that it was worth it and you enjoyed it – although it's probably a distinctly darker story than what I published so far. Thanks again to my beta for putting up with me during that time ;)_

_I came up with this because in the show Mac's always the tough guy but he's also supported by Stella a lot so I was wondering how long this support has been there for him and in what way it could have been given. _

_Reviews or other comments very welcome!_

_If you liked this, maybe you'll like the sequel__, too. It's called "Silent Comfort" (Story-ID: __5541601)._


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